


Roy Mustang Has a Heart

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Roy Mustang, Injury Recovery, Iron Man AU, Maes is James Rhodes, Roy is Tony Stark, Self-Indulgent, Shameless, by ranowa, by which i mean iron man without the iron man, let's be clear we all know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Roy is grouchy, twitchy, and in pain. Maes is tired, guilty, and worried.In other words: business as usual, and not at all.





	Roy Mustang Has a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Akarri. Blame absolutely all of this ridiculous thing’s existence on her. Even the title is 100% her fault.
> 
> It’s like it says in the tags, folks. I make yet another one-off AU whose sole purpose is to beat up Roy a little then shove Hughes over to comfort him. What’s that, you say? I’ve already written tortured!Roy into the friendly arms of goodfriend!Hughes like ten times? Well- here’s an eleventh. Also like it says in the tags, this is basically Iron Man with Roy and Hughes transplanted into Tony and Rhodey’s places, just after Tony rockets out of terrorist camp. (I’m not sure how much sense this will make if you’re unaware, since I sort’ve just wrote this like it was just canon without AU exposition… my apologies ;-;) This is just shameless, self-indulgent hurt/comfort- but I know I’m not the only one who likes that! So, if you’re still interested- hope you enjoy! :D

Maes took in a heavy, shuddering breath. He tugged his worn uniform a little straighter, hands on his hips and worried gaze planted on the floor, straight-backed and sure yet with the weight on his shoulders miserable and the weight on his heart unbearable. 

He reached for the door once, his hand quavering, uncertainty squeezing in his stomach. He shifted, biting his lip, touched the knob, dropped his hand, then stared to the floor again. It felt like butterflies- hell, full grown _birds_ \- had hatched in his stomach, and were now busy making him feel as sick and anxious as possible. 

He breathed in deeply again, trying and very badly failing to steady the uncomfortable nerves fluttering around his heart. 

Then, Maes pushed in through the door, and moved step by steady step to stand in the exam room. 

And there Roy stood. Waiting.

His best friend leaned and lingered by the window, shoulders slumped at an awkward angle and dark eyes drifting from the floor to his own feet without even the slightest sense of purpose. Twitchy and withdrawn and silent, and the sight of him cued such a maelstrom of conflicting emotion Maes just didn’t know how he was supposed to handle it. Alive and in one piece, conscious and coherent, so much more than the horrible picture his mind had been building up for weeks- but all the relief and sheer joy was just stifled by the cold, oppressive silence of the room. The cold, oppressive _nothingness_ on his face as Roy looked at him- and said nothing. 

It choked back any and all attempts at speech right back into his throat.

There was a stiff, awkward moment of hard silence.

His best friend had clearly been waiting for him. He did not jump or even flinch in surprise at Maes’ entrance, still just motionless against the wall and tense in the way of one intimately acquainted with danger, ready to pull back or defend himself at the slightest provocation and used to it all the same; not even his clear, blank expression so much as twitched. 

His hand, however, did.

It lifted automatically at his entrance, twitching awkwardly up towards near his head in a strange gesture almost approaching surrender. He blinked then, something uncomfortable flitting over his face as his hand twitched again, this time moving to awkwardly scratch at his ear before dropping again as if he wanted to forget the gesture had ever happened. He ended up settling in an even more uncomfortable, half sort of crossed arms pose, pale fingers curling around the sling and even paler face just… watching him. 

There was something nervous in his eyes. 

Something that had never been there before. 

Maes cleared his throat, albeit only after several long and uncertain moments, trying to arrange a smile on his face even if Roy wouldn’t even attempt to arrange one on his. “Hey,” he greeted weakly, and it took a great more effort than it should’ve for him to force himself further inside, step by step by step until he claimed the edge of the unoccupied bed for himself. As unaffected and at ease as he was trying to act like, somehow it took just about all Maes had to do something as simple as look at his best friend and not just burst into tears, or apologies, or- or something other than this _silence._

Roy simply continued to watch him wordlessly, expression clouded just enough to hide his unease… and just badly enough that Maes, his best friend, could still see it. 

“There’s a plane coming in in two days,” he said at last. He tried another small smile, wishing to tempt him into _something._ It didn’t come close to working. “…fastest transport I could arrange,” he went on sadly. “It’ll fly us,” _you, “_ back home.”

Roy’s lips twitched a little, the shadow of unease softening into a whisper of displeasure. “If you’ll get me to a phone, I-“

“No check that you write will get one here faster. No check will get a flight capable of international transport to magically materialize on base. No check that you write will let either of us sprout wings and fly there on our own- and I suspect even waiting for a plane would still be faster than that.” 

Roy tensed slightly at Maes’ second attempt at a teasing smile, his eyes narrowing. Something half sort’ve approaching the proper response flickered across his face so fast Maes wasn’t sure it was there at all; he opened his mouth again as if to protest and the fumbled words even made it out a few times, each a feebler attempt at an argument than the last- but instead of arguing back, as at least part of Maes had quietly hoped he would, he just settled into a stubborn pout and glared at the wall. “In that case,” he muttered sourly, “I want a private room. Preferably one with a better view than this.” 

Maes would’ve preferred it more if Roy had tried to protest more than that.

Would’ve preferred it a lot more.

“This is a private room,” was all he said at last, heart sinking again. “We’re-“

“A room that is _mine_ ,” Roy snapped back, his eyes flashing. “Not one where a doctor has the authority and will be entering at all hours of the day and night, Hughes.”

Maes, his mouth already open for a retort, found the words withering in his throat again. The look on Roy’s face, irascible and shaken and downright hostile, a prickly angry mask that was nothing close to the cool indifference he was so used to seeing, gave him pause. 

There was something vulnerable there, and he didn’t like it.

“…This is a military base,” he went on when he could, unsure of himself but knowing that more silence, at least, was not the way to go. He just wanted to get that look off Roy’s face. “Not many spare rooms lying around here, buddy- even if you’re willing to lower your standards from five star hotel.” He tried to avoid Roy’s gaze as he pushed up to cross the room, moving towards the nearest water bottle in sight; slightly dusty on the exterior, perfectly clear on the interior. Good. “Nor am I displacing one of my soldiers when you have a perfectly serviceable bed right here.”

Roy’s sulk grew even worse; Maes could feel it even with his back turned. “Maybe not by order,” he muttered darkly, voice lowering, “but I’m sure, with the right incenti-“

“Nor will I allow you to pay any of them to take their room. I’m sorry, but you’re staying here, Roy.” He steeled himself for the angry resistance that’d be waiting in the same breath as he turned, holding out the water with as encouraging smile as he could make it. 

Roy, predictably, did not look pleased. 

But the cold stubbornness and hard whiplash of petulant anger that he’d been bracing himself for, was _familiar,_ was gone.

Roy fidgeted unhappily on the spot, clearly still unwilling, clearly still unhappy, clearly still _upset-_ but rather than fight him, he just looked at him. Silent and upset… but not fighting him. 

Maes’ own smile started to fall, and his heart sunk again right after it.

His best friend wordlessly took the proffered water after several moments, breaking his gaze. He started to tilt it back, gingerly and cautiously, and Maes took the opportunity of the minor distraction deftly maneuver him into sitting down. It was probably a measure of how tired Roy actually was that he didn’t resist at the movement, his legs steady but the white knuckled grip of his hands betraying the weakness all the same, and Maes sighed. 

Couldn’t he just stop this and rest?

Couldn’t he, after all he’d been through, just stop all of this and rest for _one_ damn day?

“It’s just for a little while,” he promised, unable to help himself from reaching out, almost fussing with the strap of the sling and his sleeve and the bruises and scrapes along his neck; he just couldn’t stop himself. When Roy didn’t throw him off with a snarl for even trying, he just couldn’t help but be even more worried. “You’ll be back home in a twenty bedroom mansion and all the room you want to hide in before you know it. Just… just bear with this for now, okay, buddy? …Please?”

Roy continued to look sourly away, and said nothing.

His expression was even more closed off than before now. 

Maes slumped as well after several moments, his weak smile fading all over again. Which was ridiculous. Roy was alive, safe, and at least relatively healthy. He was not badly injured and was far, far above even the easiest of the nightmares that had chased Maes for these past three months; quiet and sullen was a huge step past crippled or hanging onto life by a thread or _dead._ Here he was, alive and healthier than Maes had any right to have expected and he should really be over the moon right now, he should be _thrilled-_ and he was really, really trying to be, but- but-

He just wasn’t. 

Because Roy was _wrong._

Maes silently accepted the water when Roy handed it back to him, inwardly grateful he hadn’t had to ask him for it. A glance down at it told him not too much had gone down, something he doubted was because of the doctor’s orders and was far more just because Roy was not in the mood to throw up again. 

He tilted the water from hand to hand, staring down at the dusty, scuffed bottle, shoulders slumped and yet jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Roy had spent the helicopter ride out of that hell’s sand box dazed and barely conscious, dozing and spent with his battered head in Maes’ lap. It had taken about five seconds for a diagnosis of heatstroke. Maes wished that had been all. 

His best friend had slept the entire way back that way, curled up loosely underneath Maes’ uniform jacket and using Maes himself as his pillow. The field medic had tried to look at him, but the rocket scientist had had no interest in cooperating and even less interest of letting go of Maes. Maes, so relieved to find him safe and whole and within his reach after so very long, had let his better judgment just abscond, and allowed Roy to cling to him even so far as it put off medical treatment. 

Even when Roy had slipped into unconsciousness, trembling with the beat of the helicopter, Maes hadn’t been able to let him go.

It had ended up being for the best, anyway. 

Probably.

At least, Maes was pretty sure he wouldn’t have managed to leave Roy alone when they’d gotten back to base, to call for transport and his superiors and Riza- not if Roy had been awake enough to look at him like this.

Maes hesitated again, trying to speak once but his throat tightened, cutting off his words before they’d ever begun. He couldn’t help but just openly stare even though it was obvious it made Roy feel even worse, gaze sweeping over him again and again, finding old injuries and new scars and old pain and a new fear and his old friend waiting underneath a new thick, poisonous layer of fragility. 

He was as relieved as he could possibly be, so thrilled his heart was _still_ pounding with the shock and joy of it, but to see Roy now- 

God, he hated this.

He _hated_ this- and felt so guilty for it he could hardly breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he burst out abruptly, fists clenched in his lap and something so tense in his throat he barely got the words out at all. 

Roy stiffened. For a second, there was nothing, just Roy perfectly still next to him, and Maes suddenly so sick at heart he couldn’t get himself to even look at him.

Then, his best friend twisted around to stare at him, and he said, “What?”

Maes withered in his seat, somehow feeling even smaller and smaller under his stricken gaze. “I’m sorry. I should’ve insisted on going with you… in the desert, I mean- I was _supposed_ to, I was your bodyguard, but-…” He clenched his fists again, shivering. “If I’d been there with you, I could’ve saved- stopped all of this from happening in the first place. I- I-…”

When he’d rode back out to the wreckage, finding nothing but dead bodies and Roy, _missing…_

For a heartbeat, Roy just sat beside him, quiet and listening, just as stiff as Maes and probably just as shaken.

Then, Roy reached over with his good arm to shatter the stillness, and punched him right in the shoulder.

“You’re a dumbass,” his best friend stated flatly, then dropped his hand back in his lap.

Maes swallowed hard again, fighting his voice back to steady no matter the lump in his throat; he had to choke back the sudden urge to laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Dumbass,” Roy said again, reaching over to nudge his shoulder again. “You would’ve accomplished one thing, and that’s getting shot. Or exploded. Basically immediately.”

“You don’t-“

“You would’ve. Or maybe they would’ve captured you along with me to try and force my hand, which, by the way, I wouldn’t have appreciated.” He sulked for a moment, mouth twitching again. “Look, I missed you, but I feel like shit, and want a nap, and as brilliant as I am I don’t really have it in me to manage some sort of majestic wordplay that shows you your own stupidity right now. Let’s just agree that you’re a dumbass and the only guilt keeping you at night should be the guilt of not getting me a private goddamn room. Okay?” 

Maes blinked again. 

Well. That was… concise.

Not to mention rude, and pretty inarguable, and (in his opinion) still flat out wrong, because no smackdown from Roy was ever going to make Maes feel better about the fact that he’d left him alone and _this_ was the result, but-

But Roy was right about one thing. 

This, Maes’ guilt and apologies and regrets, and the fact that he’d gone out there and found everyone dead but Roy and _he could’ve saved him_ just wasn’t important right now.

Roy wasn’t up to dealing with it and, honestly? After the emotional rollercoaster of the last twelve hours alone? 

Neither was he.

“Okay,” he conceded, softening his stare into a beam- then shrugged off Roy’s fist in an exaggerated blow, smile still arranged as firmly as he could make it on his face. “For now. So long as you promise to stop hitting me.” 

Roy smirked slightly, leaning back against the chair with a still oddly vulnerable look about him, but it was muted now, quieter than before, relaxed the way Maes had been hoping for, and Maes couldn’t help but smile back. Maybe he couldn’t do much right now, but he could do this.

After three months of being absolutely helpless, he’d take this. 

“…You doing okay?” he asked after several long moments, stealing another glance at Roy’s profile. “You- …does it hurt much?” 

Roy scoffed at him, not seeming to notice or, at least, care that Maes had changed direction at the last minute, adjusting his words from his own uncertainty and lingering vestiges of guilt to Roy’s welfare at the last minute. “I’d take a sunburn twice as bad if I could grab a hotel room,” he muttered darkly. “A hot shower, maybe.”

Maes couldn’t help but laugh at that, staring to gently try and fix his sleeves and hair again. “You’re redder than Tennessee, Roy! You’re not taking a hot shower!” He peered closer at Roy’s face for a moment, eying the glowing scarlet along his face and neck, down his arms; it was so bad Maes wasn’t sure if it was the worst of it or if the cuts, scrapes, and bruises etched out a win above it. “If I were you I’d just want to lie down and take a nap, not move around _more.”_

Roy’s scowl deepened. “Fine,” he remarked unhappily, folding his arm over the sling just a little tighter- but he at least seemed too tired to protest… Maes wasn’t sure if that sort of familiar, reassuring sort of behavior would’ve relieved him or not, at this point. “Is there anything that I _am_ permitted to have, then? How about a change of clothes? Or am I supposed to fly home in a _dress,_ Maes?”

Maes rolled his eyes, watching as Roy tugged at the hospital gown that was one size too big and his red face contorted with such displeasure it was as funny as it was reassuring. “Again, buddy, this is a military base. Don’t have too many spare three piece suits lying around. I’m sure I’ll be able to track down a spare uniform tomorrow, at least… maybe a-“

“Food, then?” Roy pressed impatiently, shifting around to finally look at him. “What, are you going to tell me there’s no _food_ here now? None at all in this entire base?” His voice edged from petulant annoyance to real desire now, real desire or perhaps just misery biting past the petulance so suddenly it took Maes by surprise. “I don’t really have standards right now, Maes. I’ll take your cardboard rations. I- …fuck, what I’d _really_ want is a good, old-fashioned, American cheeseburger, but- but I’ll take _whatever,_ Maes.” With a breath of frustrated air Roy jerked his good hand up, tugging it through his ragged hair so roughly Maes almost winced, the blood matted tangles and sweaty knots catching but refusing to give, Roy’s face twisting with not pain but even more frustration. “There’s a Snickers bar in my suitcase. Or was. I’d eat _that,_ Maes. But let me guess; you don’t have any of that anymore.”

Maes opened his mouth on instinct alone, driven just by the annoyed look on his face that he _knew_ hid genuine distress to try and say something to soothe him, reaching out to him then stopping, brought to silence by just the hard edge in his voice. He tried to say something again, hand hovering uselessly over his shoulder, and his heart sunk.

Then, however, it hit him.

For the first time, a small, genuine smile came to his lips. He gingerly let his hand fall down to rest on Roy’s shoulder, curling around the burnt skin as gently as he could, put at ease for the first time since he’d watched Roy be lifted away from him in that helicopter and actually, honestly _relieved_ for the first time in even longer. He said nothing at first, just holding him by the shoulder, feeling the rough, angry pattern of breath under his hand, waiting for them both to be a little calmer.

And then, he carefully spoke. 

“You want a Snickers?”

Roy stiffened slightly, going still and tense under his hand. Maes could see the uncertainty going cold in his jawline, the way his eyes went dark like he was expecting he was about to be mocked, and Maes was quick to continue before his best friend's defense were provoked up into an iron, prickly wall.

“Okay, then, Roy. Let’s go get you a Snickers.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed.

“Maes,” he started, voice cold, “what-“

But Maes stood without allowing Roy to finish, knowing this would be easier to show rather than tell. He went for Roy’s hand himself, well aware it was best to just give him the support rather than ask if he needed it, because he _knew_ he needed it just as well as he knew he’d never ask for it. The quicker he moved the harder it’d be for Roy to have second thoughts about this and dig his heels in, and so before his best friend had even started to protest, Maes already had him several steps to the door. 

It was late at night, by now, the medical wing in particular mostly deserted and Maes knew the officer’s quarters would be quiet, as well. He was grateful for it, not wanting to deal with questions or crowds right now, and he suspected Roy wouldn’t even be able to do so in the first place. He went only as quickly as he gauged his best friend able of keeping up with, trying not to draw attention to the way Roy appeared to need his hand and support even if the only person looking was Roy himself. 

When they’d found Roy, some scraps from his pants had been wrapped around his feet. That was it. Maes suspected he hadn’t been allowed shoes… it was as sure a way as any to stop someone from running, in the middle of this godforsaken desert. Roy was lucky to have made it as far as he had. He’d managed to keep himself from overheating, at least, and he’d protected his feet enough to travel… 

His head had been in Maes’ lap, on the way back. The blistered, burned, and bleeding bottoms of his feet had been propped up on an ice pack from the field medic. Even now, with every awkward step, he left the faintest smudge of red on the floor- and his legs trembled just a bit more.

Maes’ jaw tensed sympathetically again.

He would’ve just carried him, if he’d thought Roy would let him. 

But Roy did not want to be carried, or use a wheelchair, or ride in a stretcher, or anything else that would take the weight and pain off his feet, and while Maes just wanted to help him, what he did not want was to force him. So they just continued their agonizingly slow, uncomfortable stumble, hand clenched in hand, Maes watching him carefully for every chance of a fall- and Roy, doing just about everything he could to look anywhere but at him. 

They turned the first corner, Maes surreptitiously waving off the doctor who tried to approach out of worry- look at that, his rank was _finally_ useful for something. He helped Roy on around the second corner, leading the way out of the medical wing and towards the officer’s quarters, wishing it was closer, wishing there was a way to speed this up because his best friend was only slowing down the longer they walked. And, god, if this had been three months ago, Maes would’ve been filling this silence with as much chatter as he could think of, he wouldn’t have stop talked since he’d seen Roy and Roy wouldn’t have stopped glaring at him, but now-

Now- 

He’d tried. He looked at Roy’s withdrawn, cold visage several times, he’d opened his mouth, and he’d _tried…_

And he just couldn’t.

He couldn’t pretend everything was all right when it so obviously wasn’t. 

Maes glanced uneasily ahead, almost jumping at the chance just to look somewhere else other than his withdrawn and plainly unhappy best friend, but when that one look ahead finally found his destination, his heart started to speed up and a grin spilt his face in half. “Almost there, Roy!”

“Y… yeah?” Roy grunted, voice rough, half breathless in a way that made Maes suddenly look at him, concern rising. “To your kingdom of… of Snic-“

His next breath ended in a frantic gasp of air, word cutting off into a gasp into a sharp cry and suddenly Maes had to lunge, catching him before Roy’s stumble could turn into an agonizing fall. “Roy!” he cried, arms wrapping around his upended friend on instinct alone and tugging him back upright, holding him to his chest while Roy gasped and trembled, so pale under the glowing red of burns it made his stomach lurch. Fuck, it was all his fault, he’d started walking faster without thinking about it, he hadn’t realized- “Roy, are you okay?! I’m so sorry! I-“

Roy grunted again, louder than before. He pushed at Maes hard, one hand landing right in his chest and shoving, trying to dislodge him before he’d even steadied. Maes tried to talk to him again, loosening his grip thought not daring to let him go entirely, but Roy just shoved again, all but snarling for Maes to get off of him. “I’m _fine!”_ he hissed, but wavering still, bandaged feet not steady at all, and it took all Maes had to listen to Roy’s words rather than his body.

“Are you sure?” he couldn’t help but press, still reaching out worriedly. “If you need to rest for a second, we-“

Roy stalked on, refusing to look at him, face burning red now not just from injury but what looked like embarrassment, too. He clearly wanted to forget about everything, the near fall, his injuries, his need for support, and Maes was left with no choice but to just try and keep him on his feet as unobtrusively as possible. 

As much as he wanted to help him, as much as he hated all of this- he could only go as far as Roy would let him. 

It wasn’t much farther, thank god, just a few limped more steps, and the hallway was still deserted; Maes wasn’t sure what Roy would’ve done if he’d had to put on a good face for anybody else. He tried not to look at him, knowing it’d only make Roy feel put on the spot, instead just focusing on the little of the way remaining, and trying very hard _not_ to focus on the continued faint trail of blood on the floor or the way Roy’s hot hand shook in his. 

He wanted to help him.

(Even more, he just wanted to say sorry.)

“…Hang on,” he mumbled at last, tightening his hand a little on Roy’s to get him to stop. “We’re here.” Still averting his gaze, he went for his keys one-handedly, the other still trying to support his friend, his heart pounding painfully with every breath of silence. His hand shook as he jiggled the key into the lock, all but forcing it through, the scrape of metal against metal impossibly loud and his own face warming as the seconds stretched on and on, the pause turning awkward and then uncomfortable. 

Then he finally won his purchase, and the door to his small, spartan, but blessedly private room swung open. He pulled gently at Roy’s hand again.

“Here we go,” he sighed, tension giving way to his own exhaustion at last. Thank _god._ He headed inside, flicking the lights on on the way, then directed Roy towards his bed, telling him to sit down in everything short of an order. Thankfully, his best friend seemed to be too tired and in too much pain to throw up a stubborn protest about it. He just moved gingerly over to drop down to his bed, dark eyes flickering around the room uncomfortably, clearly no more at ease despite the fact that he’d finally found the private room he’d wanted so much, and Maes found himself moving quickly- wanting more than anything to just dispel the pallor in the room. 

Maes’ rank afforded him many things, and one of those things was a private room with more furniture than just a military cot and a suitcase. There was a suitcase in here, actually- but it was not his own. 

And that was what he was going for.

Maes went for his closet first. and upon opening the door, for the first time in months he actually allowed himself to look at the suitcase that had been gathering dust, shrouded by spare uniforms, hiding at the very bottom in the dark. He stared down at it for several moments, the anxious misery in his chest loosening at long, long last, and for a second, couldn’t do anything more than just smile at it.

Everything was going to get better.

Everything was going to be okay.

It _had_ to.

Maes picked it up and, without a word, turned back to face Roy. 

His best friend’s brow furrowed, some of that petulant, stubborn anger finally softening into confusion. He blinked up at Maes, tilting his head to the side, then stared harder, mouth slipping into a frown. “Is that… mine?”

“Sure is,” Maes assured, dropping down to sit next to him with the suitcase in between them. “Don’t worry, I got your computer and everything important back to Riza, but we found this in the car wreckage and I… I just wanted to keep it here. With me, you know? In case…”

He trailed off into nothing, the words catching in his throat and going silent. Roy understood, though. He could see it in his dark eyes, the way Roy looked at him then- and then even more in the slow, faint smile that came to his burned face. 

“Thank you,” Roy said quietly, and he knew he meant it.

His best friend tentatively went for it first, fumbling to open the suitcase and then flip it open between them. He hesitantly started to shift through the dusty clothes, fingering the cloth, a strange, unreadable sort of look on his face, and Maes looked down as well, unsure of what to say. 

It was small. Just a few changes of clothes; what looked like an abandoned charger cord. Maes had, like he’d said, forced himself to go through it back when Roy had gone missing, but that… he’d angrily torn through it several days after Roy’s group had been ambushed in the desert, slamming it shut again the moment he’d found Roy’s work laptop and trying to block it out.

Based on the contents, it was very clear the man hadn’t planned on being out here a week. Not even.

Roy cleared his throat after several moments, folding back the rest of the clothes to reveal the small stash of Snickers bars just waiting at the bottom. He fished one out for himself, then passed a second one over to Maes, offering it to him with a small, weak sort of half-smile, and Maes simply didn’t have a choice but to smile back and take it. 

Roy always traveled with his little collection of Snickers. Thirty year old wonderkid, brilliant rocket scientist, not to mention billionaire, and he still traveled like a five year old, unable to part from his secret snack compartment of emergency candy bars. And here they’d stayed, the wrappers collecting dust underneath his suits, waiting for Roy’s return, because Maes hadn’t been able to bear to touch them.

The wrapper crinkled like sandpaper, and the chocolate melted like sour butter on his tongue, but he ate it anyway, and he watched as Roy ate his, slowly devouring the months old bars and pretending as if this was just how it was supposed to be.

It was better than it had been in months, at any rate.

“Well,” the rocket scientist said after a long, uncertain silence. “Maybe it’s not a cheeseburger. But it’s something.”

Maes laughed weakly, returning his half smile with one of his own. “I think I know what your first stop will be when you get back stateside.”

Roy popped the remainder of the candy bar in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, then gulped it all down with one last swallow. “Of course.” He picked up a water bottle next, three months old but unopened still, and rolled it gently around his hand for a moment before cracking it open, grin broadening. “I’m getting myself a frosty.”

“Roy- Roy, _please-“_

But his best friend just smirked at Maes’ mock groan, seemingly happy as could be and Maes didn’t want to look deeper past the surface to see the distress still lurking behind his grin. “Something wrong, Maes?”

“Something- yes, Roy! _Yes!”_ Maes smacked a hand to his forehead, moaning as theatrically as he could just to keep that smile on his face. “You can’t go to _Wendys!_ You could fucking _buy_ a Wendys- hell, you could probably buy the entire company, it should be a crime for someone with your money to go to _Wendys-_ don’t you want your first half decent meal to be, you know, _half decent?_ After what you’ve been through- can’t y-“

“I want my first meal to be Wendys. So my first meal is going to be Wendys.” Roy swallowed back another deep gulp of water with a small, self-satisfied expression that made Maes’ heart swell just a little bit, warming to see that he was _finally_ getting something right. “If you have a problem with that, then I guess I won’t buy you one as well.”

“W-well- …if you put it that way…” Maes smiled weakly, trying to hide how much he was put at ease just by Roy’s sharp grin- and how much he was trying not to see the unstable flicker of fear still living behind it.

Roy smirked again but did not reply, and for the first time this whole conversation, Maes finally felt like things were actually going the right way.

It went quiet again for several long moments, the rocket scientist using Maes’ pillow to support himself with and finally relaxing back against the wall. He just looked so much _better_ than he had not even twenty minutes before- not physically, necessarily, because all those injuries were still there and brutal, but the Roy that he’d walked into that pseudo hospital room and seen just had not looked like his best friend. He’d been withdrawn, and quiet, and awkward, and- god, barely able to even look at him. 

Now…

Now, he…

Maes smiled softly to himself, still watching his friend.

Now he understood what Roy had been on about, before- why he’d wanted a private room.

Because now that he was in one, so firmly away from any prying eyes except for Maes’, for the first time since he’d fainted in Maes’ lap, he actually looked relaxed. It was strange… Maes hadn’t really been able to put it to words before, but now that he could actually see Roy in a place he was comfortable in, he could see how miserable he’d been before. Because Roy couldn’t _stand_ being vulnerable, but if there was anything he hated even more than that it was being vulnerable where others could see him.

The old room had been that. Doctors and other soldiers with borderline carte blanche to head in and out as they pleased… as much as Roy needed the rest he knew his best friend never would’ve been able to take it, too on edge for whenever he’d have to haul himself back together again.

But here, he didn’t have that weight lurking over his head.

And here, he finally looked relaxed. 

As beaten and battered as he was, the tight edge of pain that had shadowed his bruised face had fallen away at last. He leaned his head back against the pillow with a shallow pallor of exhaustion, because he had to be absolutely _worn out,_ but his shoulders slumped and the tense, stiff line of his back had utterly evaporated, strained face slack with something almost close to sleep. He’d quite fidgeting with the sling and bandages around his feet, even, finally just lying there and at ease- and Maes knew he’d never have been able to achieve that level of peace if they’d stayed in the hospital room.

He paused, glancing down at the remains of his own Snickers bar in his lap. He bit his lip.

“…Roy?” he asked, sending his gaze back over to his best friend to watch as the water level went down, since that was really all he had to gauge how he was doing. “I… I know it’s not really what you asked for. A room to yourself, I mean. But do you want to stay here? With me?” He paused again, trying not to fidget. “Just until the transport gets here…” 

Again, Roy went quiet for several moments. 

“…Sure,” he mumbled finally, the word as offhanded and absentminded as it could get. Roy still wasn’t looking at him, putting off a distracted air, calm like the question hadn’t meant anything to him, that it wasn’t a big deal.

That was how Maes knew it _was,_ and, again, the only way Maes had to know that he was doing the right thing.

He also couldn’t help but admit that he was relieved- even if only to himself. He’d probably sleep better _himself_ these next few days with his idiot of a best friend within easy reach.

Maes looked closer at Roy again, tensing his jaw at the faint relief just barely glimpsing through the mask in his eyes. “If you start to feel sick again, Roy, I’m ordering a doctor back over here. I’ll let you stay here with me but that doesn’t mean I won’t let you avoid treatment over it, okay?”

But Roy just grunted again, not a yes or a no but just a non-committal noise and Maes knew that was the best he’d be able to hope for. He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. Didn’t matter. If his best friend started to feel unwell again, or the pain got to be more than he could handle, Maes was ordering one of the base physicians back in here- regardless of what Roy said. 

He could understand Roy’s urge to be alone now. He couldn’t, however, indulge that even to the point that it hurt him.

Roy, after another long stretch of silence, turned towards the suitcase once again, tossing the dusty wrapper inside and going for the clothes. At first Maes thought he was just going for the one (somewhat old, unkempt) pair of pajamas, another thing he’d said he’d wanted, but then he was suddenly standing up with them, slinging them over his shoulder, walking towards Maes’ attached bathroom- another privilege of having a private room. Maes started to move after him, trying to help him, wincing just at the uneven swaying of his footsteps but his friend had crossed the small space before he could make it, as stubborn as he was hurt. 

“I’m taking a shower,” the rocket scientist announced. 

“But-“

“I’m taking,” Roy said, slower and more deliberately than before, “a shower. I haven’t had one in three months, and I want one, and I’m having one. Either allow it, or shut off the water.”

“I…” Maes stared at him, jaw working miserably again. He stared over his best friend once more, not sure quite where to stare _at_ because there were just so many hurt places on him to worry about, so many injuries and even more bandages, but underneath it all still that hard, stubborn stare that wouldn’t yield before a rock wall. God, he could only imagine why his best friend wanted a shower so badly… he had to be covered in dirt and grim and his own _blood_ and who knew what else, and it really wouldn’t be right for Maes to put his foot down and try and control him, especially after Roy had just spent three months without any freedom _whatsoever,_ but…“Roy…”

His best friend turned his back flatly, limping steadily on without another word, and Maes was left to sit behind- as useless and helpless as he’d felt the past three months straight.

He closed his eyes tightly, shuddering, and tried not to feel the misery of it all.

“Roy,” he said again, just before the door had shut.

Roy stopped, though it was probably close to a miracle that he had, and Maes didn’t find himself talking to a slammed shut door.

“Take a bath,” Maes told him at last, wanting to say so many other things but only able to land on this, because it was all Roy would hear. “Not a shower. You won’t have to get as many bandages wet. And use cold water… you’ll feel a lot better if you do.”

Roy waited silently through several seconds, back still to him, expression closed off and cold, those exhausted, familiar as withdrawn as a brick wall. He watched and waited and said nothing, and when Maes did not go on, knowing it wouldn’t be welcome, the rocket scientist simply faced fully away from him again, limped a step further, and shut the door. 

Maes groaned silently to himself, shoulders falling limp with something close to exhausted despair, then just flopped over onto his side and resolved to wait.

To _only_ wait, because trying to think about all that had happened or confront it now was just a little too much for him to grasp. 

A few moments later, the water kicked on. It was the sound for the bath, not the shower, and Maes allowed himself one faint smile before he curled up tighter, tucking a hand under his pillow, and closed his eyes. 

* * *

Maes jerked awake.

Long enough later that he’d sunk into the mattress with the soreness and exhaustion of his own lack of sleep. Short enough for him to remember he’d never meant to go to sleep in the first place- and short enough for him to remember, too, that he was here with Roy.

That he was waiting on Roy. 

And that if he’d been waiting long enough to fall asleep and wake up again, he had been waiting for far too long.

“Roy?” he called, or tried to; his voice was thick with sleep and caught in his throat, morphing into a cough as he pushed upright, head heavy and vision spinning gently but focus still razor sharp. “Roy? Hey, Roy?” 

The silence in his small room stayed a silence. A cold, impenetrable silence, and one that sent his heart, clenching, straight down to his toes. 

God damn it, Roy.

Maes pushed up again, this time reeling to his feet. It took a step to regain his balance and another to fight back the dizziness trying to claim him, but even before then he was marching straight for the shut bathroom door, hands clenched and heart pounding. He didn’t know _what,_ exactly, his best friend could’ve done to himself, what it was he was even so afraid of- but Maes was far past taking chances and had spent far too long being far too scared to have any patience left. “Roy!” he called one final time, knocking hard once on the door. “I’m coming in!” 

The door, thankfully, did not lock; Maes only had to force himself to hold still for one long moment, not wanting to invade Roy’s privacy but damn it, he would if he had to- and when there was still no response, he grabbed for the knob and strode straight in.

Finding Roy right where he was supposed to be did absolutely nothing to calm him down. Because there Roy was, sitting in the partially filled bathtub; the sight that Roy had actually listened to him before, again, did very little to help Maes’ current state. It seemed as if he’d actually left the water low enough to not ruin most of the bandages, which did elicit a small sigh of relief from him… although the water was dyed pink and brown and had clearly been sitting that way for a _while;_ damn it, this was going to be hell to clean…

Maes clenched his jaw, forcibly wrenching himself back to the situation at hand. Situation being Roy. Roy, being…

Being this foolish idiot of a best friend sitting there in a half-filled bathtub, slouched and unmoving, head lolling dangerously on his shoulder- and red face slack.

Slack, with sleep.

Maes’ feet brought him to a stumbling halt, heart still hammering in his chest, and for several moments found himself powerless to do anything but look down at his best friend and stare in disbelief.

His best friend curled against the hard, cold edge of the bathtub, half submerged in cold, still water. His hair was slick and damp against his head, dripping slowly onto his shoulders but the blood finally washed out- and Maes could only be relieved for that. From his position, Maes could no longer see much of his injuries, and he was grateful for that, too. His sloppy tangle of limbs hid the bruises on his chest, sloppy hair trying to hide the particularly vicious one on his injured shoulder, the one that had Maes wincing just to look at it. Roy had also unwrapped his feet, those bloody and ruined bandages thrown away. They looked worse than before, he realized with a shudder, but, well, the water couldn’t have _hurt_ them, not unless he’d- Maes smiled slightly again, testing the water with one hand. Cold, like he’d said. Well, to be fair, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep… even if Roy had used hot water, it’d be cooled off by now- but it was at least looking as if he had not. In fact, it seemed as if the cold had done his feet some good. 

Not the rest of him, though.

No, not the rest of him, because falling asleep half-submerged in cold water and sitting there for probably an hour straight was a pretty terrible idea.

Maes sighed, watching as Roy shivered beneath him. He wondered how tired Roy had to be, to have actually managed to fall asleep in such an obviously uncomfortable position- and _stay_ that way… not to mention how on earth he’d been able to sleep when he had to be _freezing._ For god’s sake, he was shivering. As peaceful as his tired face looked- and it _was_ peaceful… Maes knew he that he could not, in good conscience, let this continue.

“Roy,” he called, gentler than before. He crept forward as carefully as he could and tentatively lowered a hand down to shake him on his good shoulder.

This was, Maes determined some five minutes and an emotional rollercoaster later, one of his worst ideas yet.

Roy’s calm face twitched. First innocuously, then with a hint of pain, because he obviously was in some amount of it. A gargled, guttural sort of moan issued from his throat, good hand wondering vaguely up towards his shoulder as if to throw off the disturbance. Maes tried gently to shake him again, just as Roy’s hand made contact with his own.

Then, in the space of a blink, everything went to hell.

Roy’s groan cut off sharply, choking into a high-pitched whine. He shot back with Maes’ touch so violently his head smashed against the wall and Maes jerked back, stomach clenching in sympathy- but before he knew it Roy’s hand had grabbed his arm, jerking him forwards off his feet and nearly upending him right into the water. “R-Roy-“ he gasped, struggling away, and Roy fought _back;_ splashing like a toddler and shoving even as his face went feral like a wild animal, his eyes, god, his angry, _terrified_ eyes-

“Let me _go!”_ he howled, fear splitting through his voice like a nail- so Maes did.

He let Roy go. 

This didn’t come even close to helping.

Roy gasped wildly and shrank back, eyes huge and shocked in his bruised face, flickering around him like what he saw was still a dream or nightmare, and even now he stayed brutal and fought too hard to be calmed. He slammed backwards again, whine screeching into a hoarse scream, a scream that became a roar when the water splashed up into his face and turned it furious. and careened forwards, splashing like a two year old; his head hit the water and he screamed again, thrashing, shouting-

_“Roy!”_ Maes begged, but his best friend was stuck right in the middle of what was quickly turning into a panic attack and just _was not_ listening. His best friend pulled away from him and was again breathing hard, near hyperventilating in his panic, skin still a burned, vicious red but face turned the color of sour milk beneath it. He trembled and jerked when Maes tried to touch him again, groaning through clenched teeth, and was left to kneel there and shiver so hard it was as if Maes had hit him instead of just tried to wake him up.

“…Buddy…” 

But his best friend just knelt there and stared at him, gasping hard in his panic, and Maes was absolutely powerless to accomplish anything at all but sit there, watching his best friend shake, and wait for him to calm down.

He should’ve seen this coming. He should’ve known touching Roy to wake him up was a bad idea. He should’ve known touching Roy while he was naked, wet, vulnerable, injured, helpless, and was on the tailend of a hellish, traumatic experience, and even today had just endured god knew what, and-…

And why on _earth_ had Maes thought startling him was a good idea right now?!

It took seconds, a rough silence that dragged on and on, stale and oppressive, nearly toxic, Roy’s heavy breathing all there was to break it, but finally there was a gasp and it shattered like glass. Roy, still slumped over and wet, slumped over a little more, curling his good arm around his knees and tossing his head back, and shivering like a wet, miserable dog.

“Ow,” he groaned into the quiet, the sound stammered through chattered teeth.

Then he smiled, and some of the tense fear collecting in his chest loosened at last, and Maes found himself all but collapsing down next to him, slumping to the cold side of the bathtub to tremble just as hard as Roy was shivering.

God damn it, this man was going to drive him to a heart attack one day.

“Ow, indeed,” Maes offered back, but his attempt at a joke fell flat when his voice almost broke, and he shared a smile so fragile with Roy it almost made him want to cry. 

“I'm sorry-“ Roy stammered after several seconds, already starting to reach for him. His face twisted, coloring in both horror and shame. “I didn’t-“

“Don’t move. It’s fine; don’t worry about it.” Maes caught his hand, and Roy flinched, but held still beyond that, and as much as Maes regretted it, he’d take scaring Roy for now rather than let him try and move around, soaking wet and weak, and crack his skull open on the floor. “It’s okay, just… just calm down. I’ve got you.” He squeezed his hand a little, on instinct more than anything else, feeling it shiver in his grip and for several moments there was nothing more than the reeling shock of what had just happened. “I’ve got you,” he promised gently again, perhaps for no one’s comfort but his own.

Several moments passed. Roy sat there, continuing to tremble, his own face pale and shellshocked, and Maes doubted he was much better. God… _god._ It still wasn’t better. It still wasn’t okay at all. Roy was safe and alive and it still wasn’t over. It felt like Maes was falling; like the solid ground that had been ripped out from under him three months ago was still gone and he was still tumbling in free fall searching for it; the only difference was that now Roy was falling with him. It took a struggling heartbeat for him to manage to drag himself out of his own miserable shock at all.

Finally, Maes managed to instead taking the chance to observe Roy, knowing this might well be his only opportunity and even if it wasn’t, this _was_ his one chance to be able to try and help ease what pain he could. Even if not, at least it gave him something to focus on; some way to keep breathing past the shock and horror still breaking his mind apart.

Roy’s shoulders and neck remained a bright, glaring red. At least the cold water had to have helped them to feel a little better… the sling, now soaked and dripping, seemed to be digging into the burns, though, and after a few moments, Maes shook himself, going for that first. He gently lifted it to try and get it away from where it could chafe and irritate already sensitive skin, albeit staring just about anywhere but Roy’s face and his mind still running a mile a minute and landing on absolutely nothing helpful while it did it. “Don’t take this an excuse to get fancy,” he warned, but more than anything else was just eager to move on, to not have to broker a discussion into _why_ Roy was in pain or _why_ he’d just freaked out. “If you use this as an excuse to start flapping your arm around like a chicken, it goes back on.”

Roy’s dark eyes flickered back onto him; Maes, the memory of that old piercing gaze fading with the new and uncertain way Roy was looking at him now, averted his eye almost immediately. “I’ll… keep that in mind…” he said slowly back, voice hoarse and hesitant, not at all the confident snark he’d missed so much, and Maes briefly, suddenly, _again,_ found himself fighting back tears.

Roy had been sitting in the water long enough for it to do him harm. Or, at least, something close to it. Maes doubted there was any sense to talk into him for it, though, since it was blazingly apparent the idiot had just fallen asleep, and after what he’d been through today alone Maes couldn’t even blame him for it. Hell, Maes had done the same himself, and he _hadn’t_ spent a good few hours walking himself to death in the desert. But he wanted to anyway; wanted to berate Roy because that was just what they _did,_ Roy did something stupid and Maes laughed at him for it and it put something that was almost a smile on Roy’s face, and… 

Maes swallowed hard, his heart clenching like Roy had just stuck his fist in there and squeezed, and for several moments, found himself unable to say anything at all.

“…Come on,” he managed at last, holding his hand out. His voice was just a hint too rough to be passable, at least, to his own ears, but Roy seemed to still be in enough pain not to hear it. “You’re going to freeze to death.”

Roy’s throat jumped, his best friend swallowing as he started to shift noisily, water dripping off him to leave him shivering even harder than before. “If this base really has _that_ shabby of a heating system,” he started weakly, “I’m losing any and all confidence that I ever had in you and chartering a flight out tonight.” Roy’s other hand landed in Maes’, though, and no mater the steady words, the look on his face betrayed how unsure of himself he really felt, and Maes had to swallow back yet another pang of sorrow.

He’d missed this. 

A lot.

It was easy enough to get Roy on his feet, but he only was up there for a moment before Maes had to lunge to keep him there. “Jesus,” he grunted, gasping right along with Roy, except Roy was gasping somewhere around his heart with a fist desperately clutching at him for balance, and this time it wasn’t a question of Roy’s stubbornness and dignity; Maes just lifted him into his arms before his injured, wet feet could give him an injured, wet skull. 

Roy grunted sourly, out of breath but glaring, and it took all of Maes’ self control not to glare right back.

“Come on,” he said again- not that Roy had a choice- and begun backpedaling as safely as he could. He kicked Roy’s pajamas ahead first, then a towel that had been lucky enough to be within kicking-reach, then with a mighty heave set his best friend back down again where it was dry, and relatively safe. “Let me get another towel… if you get the sheets wet you’ll be miserable all night…”

“Maes, I will pay for a new bed- I will pay for a brand new _base,_ if you let me stand on my own two feet for two seconds. Hell, I’ll buy you a new base if you just let me go to sleep and pretend this horrid day never happened. But I’m not going to just stand here and _wait_ for you to take care of me.”

Maes groaned. He didn’t bother pointing out Roy had just promised tens of millions of dollars to him, not really caring for the idiot to then insist on proving he could afford it after all; nor did he stop him from starting to towel himself off. He tried to keep his eyes off him, wanting both to save his modesty and just ignore the many injuries, the way his body had changed, and instead just focused hard on grabbing all the towels he owned, shoving Roy’s suitcase back towards his closet, undressing himself…

By the time he’d finally finished, wasting as many seconds as he could, Roy had gotten himself relatively cleaned up as well, thank god. When Maes turned back to face him it was to find his best friend just standing there awkwardly, still dripping on the spot but now, at least, wearing pants as he tried to towel himself off with one hand. Roy blinked at him past his wet hair, eyes darkly circled and hollow, the bruises on his shoulder especially apparent, and Maes found himself smirking back, reaching out to wave him forward with one hand. 

Roy didn’t need the gesture to become a vocal order, apparently. “I’m allowed to get your bed wet, now?” he snarked quietly, smirking, but limped forward on command to sag gratefully down to the mattress. Not as soft or comfortable or ridiculously massive as his bed back home, Maes was sure, but better than a medical bed, and surely scores better than whatever he’d been sleeping on these past three months that Maes didn’t want to even think about. He couldn’t help another smile at the way Roy slumped forwards, flopping onto his stomach like a dead fish and moaning into a pillow. 

“You’re using a towel as a blanket, looks like, so… yes. I think I’ll live with the towel getting wet.” Maes sat heavily net to him, frowning at the spread of burns and bruises on his back for one long moment. He looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Or a wrecking ball. Or both. It was comforting, in a way… he actually _didn’t_ look like he’d been tortured, and after everything he’d been through… well, Maes would take a wrecking ball. He’d be sore and battered for a while, and probably moping and miserable, but… 

Maes’ gaze flickered, almost unbearably, from the vicious black-purple bruise at the small of his back to older but still new scars. He remembered how Roy had reacted when he’d just brushed his shoulder, mere minutes before.

He was not okay.

He wasn’t even close- visible marks of torture or not.

“…Maes?” Roy queried softly, voice a barely audible mumble that was fully muffled by the pillow.

He flinched, drawing back from his best friend with a weak, somewhat unconvincing cough. “I- sorry.” He started to stand again, trembling just slightly, because he hadn’t stopped _all afternoon, all day, all week, all month…_ “You want me to get you something, for the burns…? I can go to the medics, maybe- they’ll-“ He couldn’t sit still. He knew Roy was in pain and it wasn’t that he could do a damn thing to fix it, but he couldn’t sit here and do nothing through it, he… he’d been moving constantly for three months and still felt as if he was in free fall, tumbling without an anchor. He felt sick. “Maybe I can find-“

“Maes,” Roy said again. Just that: his name.

But it was enough to slow him down.

(Not stop him, because he was _still_ falling, because Roy’s body was no longer missing but by the look in his eyes sometimes his mind may well have been- he couldn’t _stop-)_

Roy didn’t go on. Just frowned at him past the longe fringe of his wet hair, pale and burned at the same time, all but expressionless, eyes narrow, back tense.

It didn’t take too long of enduring that look for Maes to get it.

“Or I can just stay here,” he murmured, giving him a fragile smile back.

Roy grunted quietly, an affirmative sort of noise that was muffled into the sheets, then just shut his eyes and said nothing more. It was clearly something close to an order for Maes not to move as his best friend, worn out and probably still half-asleep, began to drift off again, melting into the mattress. His exhausted face relaxed in degrees, tension etched into it scar by new scar and eyes still shadowed- but their hollow pain, at least for now, was hidden.

At least for now, he could sleep. 

And for now, Maes would stay with him, because Roy felt safe with him there and Maes only felt calm with that idiot finally back in his line of sight, and because he knew when he opened his eyes in the morning, the only thing he wanted to see was his best friend, alive and well.


End file.
